


Beginning

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The beginning of Roxy's alcohol addiction</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginning

Your name is Roxy Lalonde and you can’t believe you’re about to do this.

You stand before the rows and rows of shelves for a long time. The bottles lined up against the walls make you nervous, and it’s a really stupid feeling because you know more or less what to expect. When you were six you had a taste from one of them. You spit it out immediately and avoided the room for years afterward. A while later you understood that it must have been alcohol, and you wondered why anyone would want to drink it.

Things you’ve seen on the internet have changed your mind a bit. Apparently it’s supposed to be fun if you drink enough. On one hand, you feel like you deserve to have a little fun. You turned thirteen today after all, and you need a way to spend the rest of the evening. Then again, you don’t know if you should trust something written four hundred years ago on a source that isn’t all that credible and it only occurred to you now that this shit could be four hundred years old.

Damn, you must be insane to still be considering it. But the feeling passed after a few seconds, when you remembered that all the food left here for you was good enough to eat. You’re just being dramatic now.

This thought pushes you into action. It’s not hard to find the bottle you drank from when you were six, because it’s the only one that’s been opened. You hold it up to the light so you can read the label, and make a face when you realize it was 80-proof vodka. Well, shit.

You scan the shelves again, looking at all the different sizes and colors of bottles, searching for something a little less…well, alcoholic. You only realize now how much there is in here. Probably enough to get you white girl wasted every night until you turn sixty. Your eyes fall on a bottle of 70-proof rum, and you think that looks a little better.

Before you can back out, you set the bottle on the bar next to the can of soda you brought to serve as a chaser. It doesn’t take you long to find a shot glass too. (You’re not sure if you’re meant to drink rum in shots, but you don’t really care. It seems like the best way to get the alcohol in your system and get it over with.)

You pour your shot and stand there for another few minutes, hesitating again. It’s not like you have to do this. You could just leave it and go back to your computer, wait for Janey to get back online or see if you can bug Dirk or something. But Dirk would probably be more annoyed if you were drunk, and if you chickened out then Jake would just ask where your sense of adventure is.

The thought makes you laugh a little and you pick up the little glass. “Fuck it,” you say to yourself as you knock it back.

And it’s even worse than you remembered. You wince, but you force yourself to swallow. The rum burns going down your throat, and you scramble to open the can and chase it. You chug about a third of the can without thinking, and it helps but it doesn’t completely relieve the taste or the burning.

You’re still pulling faces half a minute later. Even so, you pour another shot. You found some BAC calculators earlier and you think three shots should give you a nice buzz, if you drink them quickly. You don’t hesitate as much this time, but the taste isn’t getting any better. You have to chase it down with soda again.

At this point you actually let out a noise of disgust. And you have to do that one more time? No, fuck that noise. You look at the bottle and think you’ve drank a respectable amount anyway. Deciding two out of three isn’t so bad, you screw the cap back on the bottle. Still, you bring it with you to your room, swinging it forward and back as you walk down the hall. Just in case you decide later that you want a little more.

(Fifteen minutes later you decide that you do, and it’s still the worst thing you’ve ever tasted but you care a bit less. Your thoughts and vision are getting less clear but it’s pleasant somehow. And three weeks later, your bottle of rum becomes the first of many empty bottles left carelessly on your bedroom floor.)


End file.
